Stallion Station

The Prince Edward County commonwealth’s attorney, Anthony Blaine, floated through the courtroom and the noise level dropped appreciably. In rural counties like this, the commonwealth attorney held the lives of defendants, prosecutors, and defense attorneys alike in the palm of his hands. Everyone was looking for a nod of the head and smile and none of them wanted to see a scowl or a sign of particular interest in any of the defendants. Blaine looked down the row of defendants, his eyes lingering over this one and that one, then sniffed, and the noise level came up again as he exited the chamber.

There was something about the young man shuffling along, chained to several others, that caught Tucker’s attention—something he wasn’t proud of and normally tried to fight. But he couldn’t help looking. His attention had gone to the young man to begin with because he was one who the commonwealth’s attorney had give a second, judging look. Maybe it was because all of the others in the line were thuggish looking and so much bigger than the small man—or youth—or whatever he was. He stood out against the others.

The others were either white or black and had the “been here/done this” look about them. This young man was of mixed race, the almost delicate features of a Caucasian, but the chocolate-brown skin color of a black man. And he looked slightly confused, in shock, and scared. He was a handsome young man. Small of stature, closer to beautiful than handsome, rather. Curly black hair, with a ringlet coming down over his glazed-looking brown pupils. There were tear stains on his cheeks. He obviously was overwhelmed by what was happening.

Grimacing at the man who had run into him and was still trying to get around him where he now stood, the aisle being clogged with spectators coming and going, Tucker put his hands on the man’s arms and propelled him around to the side. He walked back down the aisle toward the bench and over to the court clerk who was setting up the docket for the next cases.